


80 minutes

by darlinminds



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I am incapable of writing short fics, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, barmaid! and general badass!aelin, fenrys will have a love interest, giving you the malide relationship that should have been, so buckle up, the cadre as rugby players, this is a fic about rugby and puppies basically, youre welcome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlinminds/pseuds/darlinminds
Summary: A Throne of Glass au in which Rowan Whitethorn is a world class rugby player set to join the Terrasen Stags. Aelin Galathynius loves her job as the clubhouse bartender, and has no intention of getting involved with Terrasen’s latest obsession.sidenote: if you are a rugby fanatic i can only apologise in advance for any inaccuracies in this fic. i hope you can still enjoy it regardless !content warning: strong language & mature themes throughout !
Relationships: Aedion Ashryver/Lysandra, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Sam Cortland, Manon Blackbeak/Elide Lochan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on Tumblr but I decided to pop it here too ! Enjoy !

**_“World rugby champion player Rowan Whitethorn announces move from Doranelle Wolves to Terrasen Stags.”_ **

“Well it’s hardly surprising,” Lysandra states, glancing up at the TV as she pours a pint. 

Aelin barely looks up from wiping the bar, the news reporter is doing her best to appear shocked but everyone knows this move has been coming for months. 

“It’s because the Wolves have gone to shit,” Manon swirls her glass, gripped in her well manicured hand, perhaps surprising for the Team Captain of Terrasen Stags women team, but Manon never broke a nail. 

“At least he’s hot,” Lysandra supplies, “we could do with that around here.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” a new voice enters the club room. Aelin doesn’t even have to look up to know it’s her cousin and the rest of his teammates. 

“I could’ve been talking about you for all you know,” Lysandra retorts, as she leans over the bar to kiss Aedion.

Aelin pretends to gag at them, but it’s all a show. She adores them. It earns her a synchronised vulgar gesture from both parties involved. 

“Beer?” She asks, met with furious nods. She pulls up five pint glasses for those there. “Should I do Gavriel one too?” 

Fenrys nods at her, their coach usually joining them for post practise drinks. 

“Did you hear we’re getting Whitethorn?” Fenrys asks, sliding onto a barstool next to Aedion. Fenrys and Aelin have been friends for years, they were both in the same year at school, and for the last four years all Aelin has heard is “Whitethorn this,” and “Whitethorn that.” She knows Fen must be nearly pissing himself in excitement. 

A smirk tugging her lips, Aelin hands him a beer, “we were just discussing it.”

She gives out the rest of the beers as Fenrys starts enthusing about everything Whitethorn can bring to the team. Most members of the team are agreeing with him, the only one not saying much is Lorcan, unsurprisingly. Aelin can’t resist it.

“What do you think of Whitethorn, Salvaterre?” The bar falls silent and Lys sighs slightly. Aelin throws a smirk at her. She knows exactly what she’s doing. 

“Piss off, Galathynius,” is all Lorcan replies. Aelin knows as well as anyone else in the room that Whitethorn could pose a threat to Lorcan’s position as team captain, but she was the only one likely to bring it up. 

“He’s a year younger than you, right? I’ve seen some of his games. Impressive play. And he  _ was _ captain of the Doranelle team, wasn’t he?” Aelin’s on a roll now, which means she can’t stop. She’s good at this, too good, at getting into shit. She knows full well Aedion is cursing her name for deliberately irritating Lorcan. 

“Galathynius,” Lorcan finishes his beer in one gulp, slamming the glass down onto the bar, “remember I can get you fired.” 

Aelin’s smirk widens. “Yes, because my  _ uncle _ is going to fire me, isn’t he. You and I both know I’m the reason this place is packed every evening.” 

Lysandra coughs indignantly as Fenrys mutters “ _ humble _ ” under his breath. 

The dark haired man stares at Aelin with a glare that usually has full grown men running in the opposite direction. The blonde girl of about 5 foot 7 returns it with equal rage. 

The room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop as Lorcan strides towards the bar. He raises a pointed finger at Aelin.

“Do not pull this shit tomorrow, or I swear to god Galathynius, you will never see this place again.”

She smiles at his retreating figure and marks this down in her book as a win for Aelin. The moment the door slams behind him all chat resumes. 

Aedion gives Aelin a pointed glare. She shrugs slightly, throwing her blonde hair over her shoulder before strutting off to take another order. 

“Stop looking at her ass, Fen,” Lysandra says. Aedion whirls around on his barstool and glares at one of his longest friends. He raises an eyebrow at Fenrys, who looks absolutely shameless. Lysandra chuckles the two of them, placing a couple more pints on the bar. 

Just as she does, Gavriel strides into the bar, warning Lysandra that his players must be on top form tomorrow for Whitethorn’s arrival, which means no bottomless drinks tonight. This earns a groan from Aedion and Fenrys. Aelin chuckles slightly.

“It’s  _ so _ hard being a professional rugby player, isn’t it?” She quips in passing. Her cousin throws a beer mat at her head. 

Connall and Vaughan decide to leave the bar earlier than usual, deciding they’re going to hit the gym at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning. It’s only around 9:30pm, but the only remaining members of the Terrasen Stags left at the clubhouse bar are Fenrys, Aedion and Manon, who has been there since about 4pm. But, she reminds them, she doesn’t have to meet a world champion tomorrow. Seeing how quiet it is, Gavriel also leaves, giving Aelin and Lysandra instructions to lock up later on. The two girls sigh at each other, it’s likely to be a slow evening. 

The hours drag on, Aedion and Fenrys long gone, and despite how painfully slow it is, it’s almost closing time.

“You can go home if you want Lys, I’ll do the last 45 minutes,” Aelin offers. The two share an apartment, but she knows Lysandra probably wants to see Aedion before tomorrow.

Lysandra throws her best friend a grateful glance, “would you mind?” 

“Of course not. Are you going to Aedions?” Aelin grabs a dishcloth, cleaning some of the beer glasses from earlier. 

The brunette nods at her, grabbing her bag from behind the bar. “Don’t wait up for me,” she wiggles her eyebrows. 

“That’s my cousin Lysandra! Gross!” Aelin shouts at her retreating figure, laughing softly to herself. 

The next 45 minutes are even more painful than before. The bar is empty, but Aelin knows she isn’t allowed 

to close until midnight at least. The same second as Aelin decides she could get away with closing at 11:54, the door opens. She resists the urge to scream as heavy footsteps make their way across the floorboards. Plastering on her best customer service smile, she turns to face the bar. 

It takes her longer than it should to realise who she’s looking at. It’s the swirling tattoo making its way down his arm that’s the confirmation.  _ Holy shit _ . He really is more attractive in real life. 

“Whiskey, please,” he states, taking a seat at the bar. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. 

“Of course,” Aelin pours it, humming along to the song that’s playing. When it’s late and she’s alone, she likes to play her own playlist. Gavriel has never told her she can’t. 

“Can you turn the music off?” He practically growls as Aelin slides him the whiskey.

She folds her arms.

“No.” 

Aelin likes being difficult.

He still doesn’t look at her, just downs the whiskey, slams some money on the table and leaves. 

A couple of minutes after he’s left, Aelin realises she doesn’t know how to tell Fenrys that his rugby idol is a complete dick. 

  
  



	2. Chapter Two

Lysandra drags Aelin out of bed the next morning at 8:30, an hour Aelin usually refuses to see. Her best friend is probably the only person that could ever make her witness this time of the morning, and she’s so excited about seeing her boyfriend playing with _the_ Rowan Whitethorn that Aelin doesn’t even recount the previous night's events to her. She’ll keep that to herself for now, she thinks. 

Pulling on her favourite Terrasen green sweater, Aelin listens to Lys rambling on about everything Aedion told her last night as she pours them both coffee. Then she moves onto the things Aedion didn’t so much as say, but rather _did_ , which quickly looks like Aelin might learn way more about her cousin than she could ever want to. 

“Lys,” She sighs, and Lysandra pauses mid flow and smiles apologetically at her. She hands Aelin her coffee, and Aelin grabs her car keys off of the kitchen counter. Lysandra has no objections to Aelin driving, it means she gets to be in charge of the aux cord for the whole 20 minutes it takes to get to the training ground, and Lysandra makes it her personal mission to squeeze in as many songs as possible.

Taylor Swift turns out to be Lysandra’s choice of music, which both girls practically scream along to. By the time they park the car Aelin is feeling much more confident about any possible run in she might have with Rowan Whitethorn. The Taylor Swift effect is truly magical.

The training grounds caretaker gives each girl a cheerful wave as they make their way towards the stairs leading to the stands. They flop down in their usual seats, close to the pitch so they can shout encouraging words at the boys as they train. Or make fun of them. Usually it’s the latter. 

Aelin, as usual, has brought a book to read and Lysandra pulls out a magazine in fashion. If they’d had the opportunity to go to college, Lysandra would’ve undeniably studied clothing design, and Aelin English Literature. But they didn’t. Lysandra was thrown out of the foster system the moment she hit her 18th birthday, with no funds for college. Aelin had lived with her Uncle Gavriel since her parents died when she was young, which was pre-Terrasen Stags breakthrough and money was tight. Now, Aelin and Lysandra’s job in the bar was vital for their savings so they could one day go to college.

“Good morning!” A much too excitable Aedion practically skips over to them, kissing Lysandra enthusiastically. Fenrys follows him, and between the two of them Aelin thinks it might be slightly more energy than she can take at this time in the morning. 

“You look ravishing this morning Ace, late shift?” Fenrys jokes, obviously referring to the way her hair is thrown into a bun and the ever-growing bags under her eyes. 

“Piss off, Fen,” She swears at him, “at least I’m here.” 

“Only because I dragged you,” Lysandra reminds her, and Aelin glares at her. Aedion is just about to say something, when the joyful mood is shattered by Aelin’s _favorite_ person.

“Moonbeam! Ashryver! Stop nattering and let's go!” Lorcan Salvaterre glares pointedly at Aelin, who shoots him her most infuriating smile. The boys jog back towards their captain, and almost immediately Gavriel takes their place.

He glances between the two girls, “keep the funny, smartass comments to a minimum this morning, please.” 

“Well Manon’s coming, too, so I can't make any promises for her,” Lysandra smiles at the coach. It’s filled with the threat of trouble. 

“Manon’s coming? Brilliant!” Aelin loves it when Manon watches training. She might not always see eye to eye with the girl but between the three of them the commentary is quite phenomenal, and also not appropriate for anyone under the age of about 35. 

“She said in the groupchat -” Lysandra starts, but stops at Gavriel’s pointed glare. He sighs in exasperation. 

“Just, _please_ ,” He runs his hands over his face, “nothing inappropriate, limit the shouting and Aelin, for the love of Gods, none of your ‘suggestions’. I know how to train this group, so let me do my job, okay?”

Aelin beams at her uncle. Personally, she thinks her ‘suggestions’ make the training sessions much more entertaining. Last time she suggested that every time someone missed a free kick, they removed a piece of clothing. Unsurprisingly, Lorcan wasn't impressed. Fenrys, on the other hand, loved it. 

Manon plops down in the seat next to Aelin, armed with a chocolate muffin. Aelin’s mouth waters just looking at it. 

“This will either be really good, or really, really dull,” Manon says decisively, and Aelin has to agree. She’s kind of hoping Whitethorn and Lorcan will really hate each other, just to add some excitement. But she also wants her hometown team to do well this season, so logistically it would be better if they got along.

Lysandra is quite fixated on watching Aedion warm up, Manon and Aelin gag in synchronisation. They’re so fixated on teasing her, they don’t even notice the hulking, silver haired, tattooed figure strolling onto the training grounds. 

Gavriel’s whistle, more directed at them than his team, pulls their attention back towards the pitch. Aelin almost starts laughing again at the sight of Aedion, who genuinely looks like all his Christmases have come at once. Then she notices Whitethorn. He’s not looking at her but he does look slightly less broody than the previous night. 

Manon is clearly examining him, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifted as her eyes run over the length of his body. She turns to Aelin.

“They weren’t wrong, he _is_ hot,” Aelin waggles her eyebrows at the silver haired girl suggestively, Manon continues, “and not at all my type.”

“Hmm,” she muses, “mine neither.”

Lysandra and Manon share a glance like it's the most outlandish thing Aelin’s ever said.

“Ace, he’s right up your lane,” Lys states, reopening her magazine and pretending to read it as the team starts their actual training.

“What are you on about, my type isn't light hair,” she reminds them, thinking of her past boyfriends. 

“But, tall, brooding, tattooed and slightly scary is,” Manon lists them off on her manicured nails. Lysandra has never looked more smug. Aelin frowns furiously and opens her book.

“I hate you both,” she snaps, making her friends chuckle. Aelin tries her best to ignore the boys doing practise, which is usually not a problem, she’s seen it a million times, but there is something extremely distracting about Rowan Whitethorn and the way he seems to control the field. 

They run through their usual sets, Gavriel occasionally explaining to Whitethorn how theri tactics differ from Doranelle, and what to expect as the Fly-Half on Terrasen’s team. He takes all the information in, clearly applying it when they re-run their moves. He’s clean, and clearly knows what he’s doing and even Lorcan looks impressed with how well Whitethorn has slotted into the team.

A couple of hours later, Fenrys and Aedion are chuckling to each other as they make their way back to where the girls are sitting, their practise complete for the morning. Aelin hasn't made much progress on her book, and she hopes to the gods that neither Lysandra or Manon have noticed. She doesnt think they have, given the way Lysandra is trying to duck out of Aedion’s sweaty grasp.

“Good practise, Fen?” Aelin asks her friend. He immediately beams at her, and starts giving her a full rundown of the developments and how he’s pretty confident they have their next game in the bag. 

After the boys have showered and changed, the four of them, Manon having left to start her own training, make their way out of the training centre. In the lobby, there’s a tall figure making his way towards the doors. Aelin suppresses a sigh.

“You haven’t met Rowan, have you?” Aedion directs the question more at Lys, and Aelin doesn't mind. Given his behaviour the previous night, she’s not in a rush to get to know him. “Hey, Whitethorn!”

He turns around, and Aelin could have sworn the corner of his lips twitched slightly upon realising it was Aedion and Fenrys. Still not a smile, though. 

“Hey Ashryver, Moonbeam, good practise today,” He states, shifting his bag into the other hand.

“Have you met my girlfriend?” Aedion asks, and Lysandra beams at Rowan, outstretching a hand. She’s always been better at first impressions than Aelin. 

They shake hands, “I’m Lysandra, nice to meet you,” She introduces herself. Aelin’s cousin looks at her expectantly, but Aelin just shrugs. Luckily, Fenrys decides to take it upon himself to introduce his friend.

“And this ray of sunshine is Aelin, Aedion’s cousin,” he states, ruffling her hair. She glares up at him and he stops immediately. 

Whitethorn looks down at her, and suddenly she’s struck by how tall he is. Aelin hates people looking down on her. She sneers slightly.

“Nice to meet you,” Whitethorn says, but it's obvious he’d rather talk to anyone else.

“We’ve already met,” Aelin replies flatly. Every face in the room looks shocked, even Whitethorn. Aelin has to stop herself from chuckling bitterly. So, he really wasn't paying attention last night. 

“Last night. At the bar. I was playing 18, the One Direction song?” That seems to spark his memory as recognition spreads over his face.

“And you wouldn’t turn it off,” Rowan almost snarls at Aelin, folding his arms. Aedion’s frowning at his cousin, and Fenrys looks a little disappointed that he wasn't informed of this interaction. For a second she’s tempted to claim she didn’t recognise him, just to see what it would do to his ego, but she knows everyone would know she was lying.

“Quite frankly I don’t care who you are, I’m not turning off One Direction for you,” Aelin replies. She turns to her friends, pointedly disregarding whatever Rowan is about to say next, “if you want a lift home I’m leaving in five.”

She pushes through the door and struts towards her car, absolutely furious with the sheer audacity of that man. Slamming her car door more violently than necessary, Aelin leans her head back against her headrest and closes her eyes. Whitethorn infuriates her, and she hates that she can't quite pinpoint why. Yes, she’s usually snappish, but not to such extremes. She sighs and shakes her head slightly as her friends pile into the car. The silence is palpable.

As she drives away, all Aelin can hope is that he doesn’t rock up at her shift tonight. That would really ruin her Friday evening.

  
  



	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> authors note: you're either going to love me or hate me for this.
> 
> content warning: mature content, alcohol usage, mature language

Almost three weeks had passed since Rowan and Aelin’s official introduction, and the two had not uttered a word to each other since. Aelin was perfectly content to carry on work as usual, and Rowan stayed out of her way. Whenever he visited the bar, Lysandra did her a favour and served him. Aelin knows she can't avoid him forever, all of the boys on the team eventually creep into her life in one way or another.

It’s Friday evening, and the bar is a sea of bodies. Terrasen Stag's have had their first home game of the season against Adarlan Knights, and the boys did not disappoint. The full time score is 28 - 12 to Terrasen. For their first proper game of the season, it’s impressive. Everyone in the bar is buzzing, even the Adarlan supporters are having a good time. Despite the results of the match, it was a brilliant game to watch.

The music is pretty loud, Aelin and Lysandra’s favourite playlist is playing and they dance around the bar, serving drinks. Aedion and Fenrys are sitting at their favourite spot at the bar, both of them enthusing about the game. Aelin’s not too sure where Salvaterre or Whitethorn is, but that's the least of her worries given the demand at the bar this evening. 

“Aelin Galathynius,” a deep voice sounds behind her. She knows who it is instantly. 

Aelin turns around, smirking slightly as she does. He looks exactly the same, she thinks, his dark curls flopping slightly onto his forehead, blue eyes as bright as ever. He’s still quite considerably taller than her, and she has to angle her head slightly to look him in the face.

“Dorian Havilliard,” She replies, a playfulness in her tone that would be usually unexpected when encountering one's ex-boyfriend. “I’m surprised you still have a smile on your face after that crushing defeat I just witnessed.”

He doesn't miss a beat and slides onto one of the bar stools, “ah, we’ll get you next time.”

Aelin slides him a pint of Budweiser, and if Dorian think’s it’s odd she remembers his favourite beer, he doesn't say anything. Lysandra is serving someone waiting, so Aelin probably has a couple of minutes in between the madness to talk to Dorian. 

“I don’t think you would’ve beat us if you didn’t have Whitethorn,” Dorian states. Aelin sighs inwardly, maybe she actually doesn't want to talk to him.

“Bold talk,” Aedion has abandoned his seat, obviously wanting to catch up with the Adarlan player. Aelin thanks her lucky stars that she doesn’t have to have this conversation alone. 

“I thought we were brilliant, didn’t you Aed?” Fenrys sits on the bar stool next to Dorian and throws Aelin a smirk. She rolls her eyes, he knows as well as her that she wouldn't go there again. “Can we get a couple more drinks please Ace?”

She nods, pulling out two more glasses. Lysandra is singing along to _American Boy_ as she pours out drinks, and of course Aelin has to start singing too. Lysandra’s energy this evening is infectious. 

Aelin slides the drinks to Fenrys over the bar, and then notices’ Dorian has roped two more of his teammates into their conversation about Rowan Whitethorn. The first she recognises immediately. What is this? A meet up of all Aelin’s ex’s?

“Hey Chaol, can I get you a drink?” She forces her best, bright smile. Her and Chaol ended things on pretty decent terms, but nowhere near as good as her and Dorian. 

“I’d love one, please,” he replies, also offering her a smile. It seems slightly forced on his side, too. 

Aelin turns to the other member of their group, who she has not met before. Her immediate instinct is to like him, and he hasn’t even said anything to her. His brown eyes are soft as he offers her a genuine smile. 

“Hi, I’m Aelin,” She stretches her hand over the bar top, which is a bit awkward given the distance, but his outward warmth does not fail as he shakes it. His hands are warm too. 

“Sam Cortland, very nice to meet you,” he replies. She knows who he is, she’s been watching him play for years, but Aelin is all too familiar with the ego of a rugby player and she isn't about to feed into it. “This your bar?” 

He glances around at the various neon signs, Aelin _loves_ neon signs, plush sofas of different colours at the back of the room, the jukebox that Lysandra insisted on buying, the occasional plant scattered around and finally the stacks of books tucked in random nooks and crannies. Not many people went to the bar to read, but on slow days Aelin liked some entertainment other than the TV. There’s a karaoke corner, dubbed by Aedion, and a couple of people are making a fool of themselves. There is nothing quite like the public humiliation of karaoke. 

“My uncles actually, Aedion’s dad. Lys and I just work here,” Aelin supplies.

Sam looks between Aedion and Aelin for a moment. Aelin can tell Fenrys is trying hard not to laugh. 

“That makes a lot of sense,” he concludes, having thoroughly examined them both, “I thought you looked eerily similar. What’s it like being related to one of the best centres under the sun?”

Aelin smirks as Lysandra shouts across the bar, “no flirting with my boyfriend!”

“What’s it like _being_ one of the scrum half’s under the sun?” The words leave her mouth and then she realises that sounds faintly flirty. Evidently Fenrys thinks so given the raised eyebrow she’s receiving from her best friend. Sam smiles slightly at that, and as Aelin apparently hasn't overstepped any lines, she winks at him. 

Lysandra is chuckling as she talks to Aedion, her eyes flitting between Sam and Aelin. Everyone sitting at this bar knows Sam’s curls and lean but muscular build will have hooked Aelin from the start. She’s a _bit_ good at getting involved in rugby players for someone that swore off of them after Dorian. And then Chaol. 

Aelin drags herself away from the group to pour a drink for a customer. She glances at Sam as she does, he’s laughing at something Lysandra’s said, his face half illuminated by the blue neon lights. Maybe she’ll break her own rule again, for Sam. 

By three am, it's mainly just the two teams left, and they’ve been at beer pong for a while. Gavriel told Aelin and Lysandra they could clock out when it became quieter, so long as they serve those that ask. Currently, its Lysandra, Fenrys and Aelin versus Lorcan, Aedion and Dorian, and the girls (& Fen) are not about to lose. It getting quite competitive, Aelin and Lysandra are a few hours behind in terms of drinking, and therefore at an advantage, and they know this. The other team barely cares, they’ve had so much to drink, and that just increases the hilarity of it all. 

Ten minutes later, Lysandra is on Aelin and Fenrys’ shoulder’s, taking a wobbly victory lap, _We Are The Champions_ blasting in the background. This will be on everyone’s instagram stories tomorrow, but no one really minds. Apart from Gavriel. Gavriel will probably mind. Public image of the team and all that. 

Feeling accomplished, Aelin perches herself on the bar top, just as Manon and the rest of the women’s team stroll in. Given the way Elide’s arm is thrown over Manon’s shoulder, they’ve been out on the town for a while. 

“Good evening!” Aelin says brightly, pauses slightly and then, “or morning, I guess.”

“Aeeelin!” Elide stumbles towards her, Manon looking at the smaller girl with both exasperation and fondness. Aelin gets the subtle hint there might be something going on there and makes a mental note to ask about it tomorrow. 

“Hey Elide,” She replies, “want a drink?” 

She’s not giving the girl anymore alcohol, obviously, but if she can supply her with some water Manon might be forever in her debt, and Aelin likes the idea of that. Also, Elide’s a long time friend, and she can already tell that tomorrow morning is not going to be a friendly experience for her. Elide takes the glass Aelin offers her, and it does earn her a thankful glance from Manon. 

“C’mon,” Manon tucks her arm over Elide’s shoulders, “let’s get you home.”

She leads the brunette towards the doorway, giving Asterin instructions to get the rest of the team home before sunrise, and they will be doing practice, hangovers or no. That earns a collective groan, and even Aelin feels sorry for them.

She hears a chuckle at her side, and like a magnet, Sam is there, standing next to her swinging legs. He’s looking just as glowing as earlier, Aelin catches herself thinking, and is extremely glad for the low lit settings of the bar. 

“That was an impressive round of beer pong back there,” he nods at the table, where Fenrys is challenging Aedion one on one. That’s going to end well. 

“Lys and I don’t like to lose,” she shrugs, but a smile tugs at her lips. Aelin is a big fan of the way Sam has been glancing at her this evening. He pulls himself up to sit next to her on the bar top. Gavriel would be seething if he could see them now, he hates it when they sit on the bar. 

His smile broadens, “I think I’ll get some practice in before taking on either of you.”

She laughs softly, and they fall into a comfortable silence, Aelin swinging her legs back and forth. The bar is considerably calmer now, most people have found their way to the sofa’s for a late night chat, Aelin’s personal favourite, and the music has been expertly mellowed out by Lysandra. She catches the sight of silver hair in the corner, next to Dorian, and immediately draws her attention back to Sam. Aelin’s not about to ruin her good mood with Whitethorn.

“When do you have to go back to Adarlan?” She asks, catching herself by surprise. That makes it sound like she wants to see him again. Maybe she does.

“Four days,” he replies, “Why? Grown attached already?” 

Aelin gives him a playful shove with her shoulder, but she knows they’re both grinning. “Maybe.”

Sam just hums in response and pulls out his phone, passing it over to her. Aelin looks at the phone in his lap, and then back at the man sitting next to her.

“I’m all down for gifts but what am I supposed to do with this?”

He gives her a hard stare, playfulness dancing in those brown eyes. “You’re a clever girl, Galathynius, I’m sure you can work it out.”

Aelin is trying so hard to stop herself from beaming that her cheeks are aching. But yes, she thinks, as she puts her number into his phone. Yes, she can work it out.

  
  



	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: mature content, mention of character death, mature language

Elide starts awake to the sound of an alarm. Her head is slightly foggy, and it takes her a couple of minutes so realise that it is not her alarm that is ringing. This room is brighter than hers usually is, the early morning sun flooding through the half opened curtains. She’s not in her bed.  _ Shit _ . This is not her t-shirt. It’s a bit too big for her. 

A knock on the door.

Elide flinches. “Come in.”

The smirking figure that strides into the room is one of the last people she would expect to be in the house of. Let alone the bed of. Her team captain has never looked more smug. 

“You’re not in my bed, don't worry,” Manon tells her, in a way she thinks is supposed to be reassuring but it’s not. “Asterin never came back last night. God knows where she is.”

Elide’s cheeks flush slightly, tugging the shirt she’s wearing, “did you… Did I… How…” 

Apparently, forming cohesive sentences is not Elide’s strong point this morning. Manon glances down at the tshirt, and back up at the small brunette wearing it. Her smirk widens.

“You managed to put on the shirt yourself. Mostly. You twisted the arms, but other than that, I’m pretty impressed Lochan, given your level of intoxication last night,” Manon adds as an afterthought, “It’s my shirt, but you can keep it if you want.”

The warmth Elide feels creeping up into her cheeks is not a feeling that should be associated with her captain.  _ Team Captain _ , _ Elide _ , she reminds herself forcefully. Deliberately avoiding those golden eyes, she ducks her head, nodding slightly. Apparently, this is enough confirmation for Manon who chucks a rugby kit at her. 

“Get ready, we have practise in 30 minutes,” and just like that, Rugby Manon is back. Elide doesn't know if she prefers that or not, but it's definitely easier to push down any illegal feelings when Manon is in Captain mode. Sighing, she steps out of bed, her head swimming at the movement. Paracetamol first, Elide decides, then rugby pracitise. 

  
  
  
  


Unsurprisingly, Aelin doesn't see Saturday morning. She sleeps well into the early afternoon and when she finally does wake, she doesn't get out of bed. She leans from her bed to tug the curtains open. It’s a drizzly day, and Aelin happily snuggles down into her bedsheets. Her phone illuminates on the side table, and predictably it's a text from Lysandra.

**_Lys:_ ** _ Are you awake? Would you like coffee? _

Aelin smiles at her friend's thoughtfulness. Lys is much better at waking up than her, and has probably been up for a couple of hours. She replies immediately. 

**_Ace:_ ** _ Yes to both, please! _

Reaching for her book, Aelin is just about to turn her phone off, when a text from the previous night catches her eye. She grabs her book, but doesn’t put her phone away. The name isn't familiar and it takes her a minute to work out who it is.  **‘One Of The Best Scrum Halfs Under The Sun’** reads the extensive contact name, and Aelin can’t recall putting it in herself. She opens the message thread, but there’s only one text, sent at 5am.

**_One Of The Best Scrum Halfs Under The Sun:_ ** _ just checking this is Aelin’s number. _

She scoffs slightly. Aelin gives out fake numbers rarely, she usually just point blank refuses if she doesn't want to, and a couple of times she’s had Fenrys pretend to be her boyfriend to get out of giving her number out. In fact she can't remember giving her number to anyone. Anyone apart from… Ah… Sam. 

Aelin is thankful she’s alone, because the blush that appears on her face is borderline embarrassing and she would never live it down if Lys was around.

**_Ace:_ ** _ I can’t believe the lack of trust you have in me. _

**_One Of The Best Scrum Halfs Under The Sun:_ ** _ I trust you about as far as I can throw you. _

Given his sporting ability and Aelin’s build, she imagines that might actually be quite a long way. Obviously she doesn't say that, it might read like she was insinuating something, and Aelin has to remind herself she’s only known Sam a day. Stick to friendly texting for now, she thinks, changing the subject to something more neutral.

**_Ace:_ ** _ Are you going to the women’s game tomorrow? _

**_One Of The Best Scrum Halfs Under The Sun:_ ** _ Are you? _

**_Ace:_ ** _ Some of my best friends are playing, of course I am. Gotta support. _

Aelin’s awaiting his reply when Lys strolls in, a mug in hand. She beams at her best friend appreciatively, thanking her. 

“Got any plans for today?” 

Lys hums slightly, “Aedion’s here, but Fen might come over later, just before we go to the bar.”

Sometimes, Aelin wishes she could get out of this cycle her and Lys are in. She adores rugby, and the bar, but it’s the same. Everything’s always the same. Her mother, were she still alive, would tell her the same is good, sometimes. Same is comfortable. But same makes Aelin want to scream. Same makes Aelin want to run. She buries these thoughts deep inside her and nods at her best friend. The both of them are doing their best. And things  _ are  _ better now than they were. She has to remember what things once were. 

Aelin does not unload this on her best friend, but rather nods in agreement. Her phone buzzes. It’s Sam, pulling her out of her own head. 

**_One Of The Best Scrum Halfs Under The Sun:_ ** _ I might be able to squeeze it into my extremely tight schedule.  _

She tries to stop the smile that creeps onto her face before Lysandra can spot it, but too late. She never misses anything. Lys glances at the contact name, and obviously she must remember the previous night’s conversation better than Aelin had, as she smirks at her friend and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. Aelin blushes and launches a pillow at Lysandra’s retreating figure, earning herself a chuckle from the corridor. 

Settling back into her pillows for a while, she replies to Sam, with just a hint of flirtation. Sometimes she really can’t help herself. Then, she catches whispering in the living room as the front door closes, and the distinctive sound of Fenrys taking the piss out of someone. It’s followed by Aedion whisper shouting.

“ _ Cortland? _ ”

Oh shit. Aelin rolls her eyes as she clambers out of bed, cursing Lysandra’s inability to keep her mouth shut. The whispers get louder as she nears the kitchen, she’s never met three people less discreet. They cease altogether when the trio notice her standing in the doorway, looking distinctly unimpressed. 

After a minute of silence, Fenrys goes, “Adarlan Knights?  _ Really? _ ”

That’s two pillows Aelin’s thrown at someone today, and she’s been awake less than an hour. 

  
  
  


Today’s practise was painful. That was the best way to describe it. Painful, and about two hours too long. She was nursing a headache that threatened to cleave her skull open, but forced herself to pretend like it didn't exist to push through practise. After a day of shouting and whistles, her brain was pulsating behind her temples. With a sigh, Manon throws herself onto one of the barstools and orders the strongest coffee from Aelin. Due to the game tomorrow, the whole team was on a strict no drinking order. 

“You’d be better off sleeping that hangover off,” Aelin quips, her advice completely unsolicited. 

Manon glares at her, “some of us don’t have the luxury of rising after midday.” 

Aelin rolls her eyes, but for once in her life doesn’t make any further digs. Manon silently thanks her for that, she’s in a particularly violent mood, and Galathynius nattering on would do nothing in her favour. 

Three coffee’s in, her headache is starting to retreat. Manon considers this a big ‘up yours’ to Aelin’s advice, but doesn’t have the energy to get into an argument with the blonde. Anyways, the whole men’s team has arrived, and despite being busier, she still seems to be finding time to throw flirtatious comments at the curly haired Scrum Half from the Adarlan team. 

Trust Aelin to be fraternizing with the enemy, Manon thinks, slightly bitterly. She’s perfectly capable of identifying good rugby when she sees it, and the Scrum Half is good, no denying, but Manon doesn’t think he’s worth going that far for. Still, it seems to be entertaining the blonde, so she doesn’t think about it further. 

Instead, Manon decides to do what she does best. Scheme. She runs her hand through her white hair, and pictures the team they’re playing tomorrow. She’s spent a lot of time watching them play, learning their moves and isn’t too worried about the result. Her team have been prepped, given the full run down, and they’ll go over it tomorrow morning. Asterin joked that Manon was reciting it in her sleep. She probably was. 

Manon trusts her team. They’re good at making decisions and working together as a unit. Even Elide, who joined only last season, has slotted right in. Manon thinks about Elide’s selection process, and how seamless it was. How, from the moment she walked onto the pitch, she knew that the Lochan girl would work so flawlessly among the already existing team. This has always intrigued Manon, how she  _ knew _ . How Elide felt like the piece their team had been missing for years. Manon can’t help but wonder if Elide is the piece she’s been missing - 

No. She can’t afford to be having such thoughts about her teammate. Boundaries exist for a reason. Even if last night felt different. 

“Alright, Blackbeak?” Aelin’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts. She almost looks… concerned?

For some reason this makes Manon angry. 

“Fine,” she snaps. Aelin recoils ever so slightly, slapping that fake customer service smile onto her face. They glare at each other for a second, Manon can’t help being slightly horrified by Aelin’s icy stare with that cringeworthy smile. Then, it’s replaced. By a smirk. Aelin’s eyes flick up and down Manon. Manon has to physically restrain herself from climbing over the bartop and punching her. She feels like she’s being examined. 

“What’s happened?” Aelin’s voice is softer now, more genuine. It’s like she’s noticed something about Manon she doesn't even know herself. 

“What do you mean?” she replies, forcing contempt into her voice, “nothing happened.”

The bartender hums slightly, a brows creasing. “Where’s Elide?”

Now Manon is definitely confused, “what?”

“Did you argue? Was it practise?”

“Galathynius, what the hell are you on about?” 

It’s Aelin’s turn to look puzzled. Manon gets the distinct feeling she’s realising she’s read something wrong somewhere along the way, as her cheeks become slightly pink. 

“I just thought… You like her? Don’t you?” 

Gods, this girl was direct. Maybe Aelin didn’t read her so wrong after all. 

“And what,” Manon states slowly, “gave you that impression?”

Aelin quirks an eyebrow, which infuriates Manon a bit. She gets the impression Aelin feels she’s got her all figured out. After years of knowing the girl, she probably has, but that doesn’t mean Manon’s about to let her know that.

“Last night. You were in the bar, looking after her.” Aelin explains, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “I’ve never seen you care for anyone like that.”

There’s silence for a moment and then Aelin goes, “it’s pretty obvious, when you think about it.”

But Manon doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn't want to jeopardize this brilliant, flawless team she’s created because of her  _ feelings _ . That’s completely out of the question.

“It doesn’t matter if I care for her or not. Nothing can come of it,” She argues, and there is a flash of disappointment over Aelin’s face at her defensiveness. 

“Anyway,” Manon justifies, sliding money over the bartop to Aelin, “There’s no way she'd want that.”

Neither of the girls say anything as Manon makes her way towards the door. Aelin was right about one thing, she needs to get to bed before tomorrow’s game. She thinks she’s made it with no last word from Aelin. Then, 

“How are you going to know, Blackbeak, if you never try?” Aelin shouts from the bar. The blonde insinuating that Manon is a coward makes her blood boil, but she has no energy to retaliate. She settles for the tried and trusted middle finger over the shoulder. Aelin’s answering laugh follows her all the way home. 

  
  
  
  


As far as Aelin’s concerned, it’s been a good evening. Despite probably getting her head bashed in by Manon the next time she sees her, she’s feeling optimistic. She spent a majority of her evening flirting with Sam, which was very much reciprocated, and avoiding knowing stares from Lysandra. He’s going to meet her at the game tomorrow, and just the thought of it makes her cheeks ache from smiling. Aelin wonders for a moment when she became like this over a boy, and then promptly decides she doesn't care. As long as she doesnt melt in front of him, she figures it will be okay. 

Practically everyone’s gone now, including Lysandra, and Aelin has switched to her mellow music playlist. The lights are dimmed, and the whole room seems a bit cozier. The last couple of customers trickle out slowly, Aelin waving to them as they go. She does the usual closing routine, people are extremely unlikely to come in now, and she can’t stop thinking about her bed. 

Then, just as she’s waiting for  _ Hey There Delilah _ to finish, because she  _ refuses _ to stop songs mid flow, she catches a glimpse of silver hair in the corner of the room. Aelin only knows one person with hair that length and that colour. She can’t see his face, but he’s in a hunched over position, his head in his hands, and despite her deep rooted dislike for the man, she feels a pang of sympathy for him.

Aelin hates herself slightly as she makes her way over to the couches. She’d practically done everything in her power not to interact with him, and now here she was. As she draws closer, she sees his body shake slightly, like he’s crying. Oh god.  _ Is _ he crying? She definitely can’t leave him alone now, and walks more purposefully towards him, so he can hear her coming. The last thing she wants to do is shock him. 

At the sound of her footsteps, he raises his head, and upon noticing who it is, turns his face away from her. It hurts, slightly, but she can’t blame him. It’s not like they're exactly civil. 

“Leave me alone, Galathynius,” he rasps. 

She ignores him, settling down on the couch next to him, but a comfortable distance away as to give him space. 

“I said go.” He says, a lot more forcefully this time, “I don’t want to hear you gloating.”

That makes her frown. Did he really think that lowly of her? Recalling her previous behaviour towards him, she realises she’s never given him a reason to think otherwise.

“I’m not here to gloat,” she does her best to keep her voice soft, calming, how Lysandra would talk to her whenever she was upset, “I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

Aelin does her best not to scoff, he’s so obviously not fine it’s almost laughable. But this is not a situation for laughing. 

“I know we don’t always see eye to eye,” that makes him scoff, but she pushes on, “but I’m here if you want to talk.”

He nods, but doesn’t make eye contact. 

“I’m going to make hot chocolate,” she stands, “want one, Whitethorn?”

  
  
  
  


An hour later, and a hot chocolate down each, the two still hadn’t spoken, but it was slightly less tense. Aelin had let her playlist continue, so it wasn't complete silence. This makes it slightly better. She’s just about to suggest they call it a night when he starts to talk.

“My wife died a year ago today,” he states, fidgeting with his fingers.

Of all the things Aelin expected to be wrong, this was not one of them. She searches for something to say, but draws up short. 

“I’m sorry,” she settles for, lamely. She kicks herself for it, but it’s all she can offer. She doesn’t know him well enough to say anything else. That makes her angry at herself and her own bitchiness. 

“Car crash. No one's fault.” Whitethorn continues, running a hand through his hair, tears pouring down his cheeks again. “I wasn’t there. She was pregnant, and I wasn’t there. I was supposed to protect her, I vowed to protect her.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Aelin says, trying to find some words of comfort. “What was her name?”

“Lyria. She was called Lyria. We got married so young, everyone thought it was ridiculous. But I loved her. I loved her so much. She was… she was  _ everything _ to me. She helped me through so much. My life was… a mess. Before her. Lyria was like clear skies. Clear skies after years of darkness.” He chuckles softly through the tears to himself, “she used to do this thing, when it rained, where she’d have to go out in the rain and dance. She’d just drop what she was doing and dance. It was… ridiculous. And wonderful.”

“When we first got together, we were eighteen. And she would insist on playing 18 by One Direction whenever it rained. She’d say “Ro,” she used to call me Ro, “they wrote this song for us,” And she’d drag me into the rain. I hated that song for a while. Because it was One Direction, and I was a rugby player, for god's sake. But she made me love it.”

He lifts his eyes to look at Aelin now, and for the first time she notices they’re green, through the tears, “and now I can’t listen to that song. Because it reminds me of her. And it hurts… It hurts so much.”

“I am so sorry,” Aelin’s crying herself now, thinking back to the night of their first meeting.

“You didn’t know,” he shakes his head.

“Still,” she pauses, “she sounds so beautiful, Rowan.”

“She was,” he responds, “I miss her, everyday. I hope she knows how much I miss her.”

“She knows, Rowan, she knows.” 

  
  



	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> authors note: firstly thank you thank you thank you for your patience recently. i’m so sorry for my awful upload schedule. life is just all over the place recently. secondly, this first segment did in fact get written at 1am, and it is extremely obvious. i don’t even know what’s going on. that being said, enjoy !
> 
> content warning: mature content, mature language

When Aelin gets home in the early hours of the morning she deletes all the One Direction off of the bar playlist. Just to be sure. Had someone told her three hours ago to take her beloved band off of the playlist, Aelin probably would’ve punched them. But she can listen to  _ Girl Almighty _ in her free time, she figures. If she doesnt bring it up, Lysandra probably won't even notice. Out of everyone, Fenrys is likely to be most distraught. 

Aelin has one of those annoying night’s sleep where she wakes up and feels like her head has just touched the pillow. Last night turned out to be a pretty emotionally heavy affair, and she pins her lack of restful sleep down to that. She starts her morning by spending a few minutes on her phone, scrolling through Instagram, commenting an appreciative emoji on Sam’s latest workout shot. He really is extremely attractive. She spends a borderline creepy amount of time looking at his abs in the photo, and barely notices Fenrys sitting on her bed. She didn't even know he was in the house. 

“My, my Miss Galathynius, what are you up to?” He chuckles mischievously, and it takes all of Aelin’s self control not to punch him in the face.

“Absolutely none of your business, dick,” she replies, shoving his face away from the phone screen. Fenrys has absolutely no concept of personal space or privacy. 

He chuckles, “I understand the fascination, Cortland is  _ so  _ hot.” Aelin glares at him, and he ruffles her hair. Apparently, Fenrys is in the mood to lose a hand today. 

Before she has time to act on her plans, Lysandra and Aedion arrive in her bedroom door, each of them looking slightly flustered. Aelin and Fenrys gag at each other in disgust. 

“The moment that this,” Aelin motions between the two of them, “isn’t what I have to wake up to every morning, I will thank whatever Gods are up there.”

Lysandra responds with her middle finger, “you’re just jealous, it’s been months since you got any -”

“I’m leaving,” Aedion sighs, exiting the room. Unsurprisingly, Fenrys doesn't move. Any excuse to take the piss out of Aelin is good enough for him.

“It hasn’t been months -” Aelin starts to argue back. Lys just arches a perfect eyebrow at her, and she shuts up. Fenrys chuckles.

“Surely it hasn't been  _ months _ , Ace?” 

“It has,” Aelin and Lysandra chorus at the same time. His eyes widen slightly, he had originally thought they were being dramatic, but at Aelin’s glare, schools his face back in neutrality. 

“The last time was Chaol,” Aelin mutters, and even Lysandra looks momentarily shocked at this. Then, Fenrys and Lys both burst out laughing.

“P-please… tell me…” Lysandra can barely breathe through her laughter, “tell me… you’re lying!”

“No,” Aelin folds her arms indignantly, similar to that of an angry toddler.

“You would complain about how bad it was all the time,” Aelin looks like she might hit Fenrys,  _ again _ , “and you ended your relationship on that note?” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” she replies. Honestly, she’s not too sure whether she’s defending herself or Chaol at this point. She looks at Fenrys’ and Lysnadras’ unimpressed expressions and shrugs. “It wasn’t _ brilliant _ …”

The two dissolve into fits of giggles and for a minute Aelin wonders where she went so wrong in life as to be stuck with two such idiots as best friends. Fenrys opens his mouth. Brilliant.

“If you want -” mischief dances in his eyes. She can tell exactly where he’s going with this.

“NO!” She exclaims, pushing him off her bed. “Get out of my room, you vile creature.”

Aelin grabs Fenrys by the collar of his shirt and starts hauling all 6’2 of him towards the door. She’s not that muscular, certainly not to the likes of Manon or Asterin, and immediately regrets this decision. But she’s too far in now. Aelin drags the centre player of Terrasen Stags across the floor of her room, sweating. Lysandra watches from the bed, unbothered.

“Wanna help?” she gasps. Fenrys weighs a ton. Lys examines a nail, before raising her eyes back to her best friend.

“Nah, thanks. I’ve had my exercise this morning.”

Aelin rolls her eyes. Fenrys has the decency to look disgusted from his position on the floor. He’s folded his arms, lying back, facing the ceiling, waiting for Aelin to continue her mission. Stubborn git. The blonde tugs at his collar again, and a couple of threads pop loose at the top. She glances at them sceptically.

“Fen, maybe you should just get your ass up?” 

He waves her off, “nah, it’ll be fine, it makes that noise all the time.”

Aelin raises an eyebrow, but gives another sharp tug, dragging him slowly, like a lion trekking with it’s catch across the plains. She pulls more continuously this time, throwing her strength into it -

A ripping noise sears the room. Fenrys’ top half of his body, held up by his shirt, slams to the floor. Aelin, who had put all her weight into pulling Fenrys, flies across the room and straight into the closet. Aelin looks at Fenrys, who is swearing at her. Fenrys glances at the shredded shirt in Aelins hand. Slowly, like children that know they’re in trouble, they lock eyes. Aelin is trying extremely hard not to laugh; she’s still supposed to be pissed with him. The corner of his lip tugs up as the situation settles. That’s it. Aelin loses it. Fenrys follows immediately. Lysandra looks at the two of them crying on the floor and rolls her eyes. 

A short, sharp cough attempts to interrupt their hysterics, but Fenrys and Aelin are on a roll now, and Lys has seen this enough to know they’ll probably be completely irrational for a few hours. Aelin doesn't even notice her cousin and another hulking figure in the doorway.

“We’re giving Rowan a lift to the match,” is all Aedion says. Aelin stops laughing immediately, locking eyes with the silver haired man, who looks extremely uncomfortable at the scene before him. Given last night’s developments, Aelin offers him a shadow of a smile as she hauls herself off of the floor, to which he responds with the slightest head nod. 

She’s getting somewhere with Rowan Whitethorn, she thinks. 

  
  
  
  


The atmosphere of the changing rooms before a game is one of Manon’s favorite experiences. It’s the highlight of rugby, the buzz. She scans the room, and can tell the team feels it too. They’re raring for their first game of the season. Have been for months. She just hopes they can deliver. They  _ will _ deliver. 

“Okay,” Manon claps her hands together decisively, capturing everyone's attention, “we all know what we’re doing. We’ve drilled it a million times. Also, we’ve played this team before. You know their moves, their players. Use that knowledge. We’ve improved massively since we last played them,” she starts tallying off their improvements on her fingers, “we’ve stopped dropping scrums, our lineouts have been much better and we are practically assured conversions by Asterin. It’s looking brilliant for us.”

The room erupts into cheers, and Manon can feel herself want to smile, but she doesn't. It’s game time, so the game face is on. There is no room for emotion. 

“What are we?” Asterin starts their pre-match call with a shout.

“We are the Stags!” They all shout in response, pride evident in their voices.

“From when?” She continues.

“From now until the Darkness claims us!” The room explodes into noise and claps on the back, and they all start to file out, one by one. They’re all hyping each other up, bubbling to get onto that pitch. 

Manon is always the last to leave the room. The moment of silence before a game is good for her. She takes a moment for herself. Today, she can tell someone has hung back even before they walk back into the room.

“Ready to go, Captain?” Elide asks, tugging her brown hair tighter in it’s ponytail. She looks slightly nervous, and for a second Manon suspects she too wanted a moment alone. 

Manon takes a breath and steps towards Elide, her golden eyes glistening with excitement at the promise of the attack to come. 

“Absolutely,” she states decisively, and with Elide in stride beside her, steps out into the thunderous stadium. 

Once Fenrys and Aelin have collected themselves slightly, the group make their way to the stadium in relatively good time. Aedion always likes to leave a little bit early because the roads become so busy on a game day. Lys, being Lys, claims the passenger seat immediately, much to the protests of everyone else. Fenrys looks at Aelin, who scowls at him. 

“You’re in the middle, short-stuff.”

My God, is he infuriating today. She knows there's no alternative, and so, kicking up very little fuss for the likes of Aelin Galathynius, sits in the middle seat. Rowan, thankfully, decides not to comment on the ordeal, but slides into the seat behind Lysandra. Fenrys claims his seat behind Aedion, grumbles about the lack of legroom, and then reverts his attention to pestering Lysandra about the music. 

Aelin is quite uncomfortable, sandwiched between probably two of the largest men she has ever met. She shifts more to Fens side, as not to make it uncomfortable with Rowan, but is acutely aware he’s probably going to be pissed off at her for this situation. He still hasn't said a word to her. No one is surprised by this, given their track record. But Aelin expected at least a greeting. 

She brushes it off as Fen starts singing obnoxiously to  _ You Shook Me All Night Long _ by  _ AC/DC _ , the live at River Plate version, because he always insisted the experience was better. Aelin can’t help but agree. Somewhere in around the chorus, she joins in, and they’re both rocking out. Lysandra and Aedion look like exasperated parents, and Aelin recons Rowan might just never speak to her again after this. 

They finish their AC/DC set, pulling up outside the stadium. Rowan sighs.

“Thank God that's over,” he states. Aelin gives him a glare. It’s not an aggressive glare, but rather a  _ I-know-you-enjoyed-that glare _ , and Rowan can tell. His eyebrows raise slightly in response.

Lys whirls around in her seat to face Rowan, “you thought  _ that _ was bad, just wait for when they get going on the musicals.”

“Ooo, Fen, wanna do  _ The Schuyler Sisters _ on the way home?” Aelin asks, her face lighting up.

“I’m getting a lift home with Lorcan,” Rowan grumbles. She can tell it’s an empty threat.

Aedion chuckles, “nah, you want to see  _ The Schuyler Sisters _ . Fen is Peggy.”

“She’s underrated!” Fen defends, the whole car bursting into laughter. Even Rowan cracks a smile at that. 

“You can be Angelica, if you want,” Aelin offers Rowan. He looks unimpressed extremely quickly.

“I’m Angelica too!” Fenrys whines.

“No, you’re not! You’re Peggy!”

“I can be both!”

  
  
  
  


Armed with a beer from the stadium bar, Aelin makes her way towards the area she knows her seats will be. Perks of working so closely with the club, and her various connections, is that her seats are brilliant. Fenrys, Rowan and Aedion all got caught at the bar with various people asking for photos. They don't mind at all; in fact they love it. Rugby fans are usually quite chill, something Aelin has always appreciated them for. They’ll support the team fiercely but have a brilliant understanding of what the players need. 

Not being players, Aelin and Lysandra ventured to their seats. As Aelin gets closer, she notices a curly brown head in the area of their seats.  _ Damn it _ , she completely forgot she was supposed to text Sam her seats. Oh well, she’s here now, and it looks like their seats will be close together, anyway. 

Lys elbows her in the ribs, and Aelin almost sloshes some of her beer over the sides of it’s plastic cup. 

“Is that -”

“Yes, that is Sam,” Lysandra squeals and Aelin rolls her eyes. She does secretly love how excited her best friend gets about her love life. 

Aelin leads the way to their seats, which are just in front of Sam’s. Dorian is also with him, and gives Aelin a wink. She responds with her middle finger. Thankfully, Chaol is nowhere to be seen. 

“Where’s Chaol?” she asks them both as a way of greeting. Might as well pretend to be polite. Sam smiles at her, and Aelin can feel her cheeks warming. Lysandra, luckily, has busied herself with the arrival of the others. 

“Why? So desperate to see him?” Dorian jokes. Aelin fixes him with a hard glare. “He’s off flirting with some medic that was at our practise earlier today.”

Aelin snorts slightly, “I’m sure she’s delighted by that.”

Dorian shrugs noncommittally. Sam motions to the seat next to him.

“This seat is free, if you want a better view,” he offers.

Aelin’s a bit of a bitch when it comes to flirting and doesn't have time to stop the next retort, “it’s exactly the same view as this seat.” Sam blinks at her.

Dorian, who has seen his friend butcher relationships, including their own, one too many times, puts his face in his hands. Immediately, Aelin feels bad.

“I’m sorry,” she coughs slightly, giving Sam her best apologetic smile, “I would love to sit there.”

Surprisingly smoothly, she manages to clamber over the seats, up onto the next level. Sam holds out his hand to help her, which she takes gratefully. His hands are warm and practically engulf hers. His rugby-player calluses are evident against the smooth skin of her palms, but they’re oddly comforting. She likes this, holding Sam’s hand. 

When she sits down, she doesn't let go, and neither does he. In fact, he appears so comfortable, so natural like this. For a while, Aelin doesn’t notice anything but the way he moves her hand into his lap as he leans across to laugh with Dorian about something. Her hand makes its home there for a long time. 

Throughout the game, which is brilliant, Aelin is consumed by Sam’s reactions. He’s vouching for Terrasen, on her behalf, he assured her. Within the first 5 minutes, Terrasen score a try. The stadium explodes into cheers, everyone is on their feet. Her hand is still in Sam’s. They sit back down for Asterin to take the kick. Aelin watches the way Sam props his chin up on his hands,  _ still  _ holding hers, his elbows on his knees, in intense concentration as Asterin prepares. As the woman on the pitch makes the kick, there's a collective intake of breath. Aelin thinks Sam might’ve stopped breathing, he’s so still. She drags her attention back to the pitch. 

The ball is soaring. She can’t tell anything from Asterin’s immediate body language. Then, it goes over. Asterin’s got the conversion. The stadium erupts. The players are cheering, she can just see Manon clapping Asterin on the back. The crowd is earsplitting. Aelin’s on her feet. She’s not quite sure when she stood up, but she is. In the chaos, she’s managed to throw her beer everywhere. Aelin’s jumping and cheering. Sam is hollering. He catches her eye and bloody  _ beams _ from ear to ear. His excitement is contagious. Then, he’s throwing his arms around her, engulfing her in one of the most comfortable hugs Aelin has ever experienced, mid-rugby match. He smells like comfort. Wood fires and freshly ground coffee. 

When the volume dies down slightly, he whispers in her ear, setting the hairs on her neck on end, “come out with me tonight? Just me and you?”

He pulls out of the hug, cocking his head at her slightly, emphasising the question, his brown eyes twinkling. Aelin immediately misses the warmth of his arms. 

She nods at him, her cheeks ache slightly from smiling, “I’d love to.”

They sit back down, both of them buzzing. They’re both grinning like idiots. Aelin drops Fenrys a text. 

_ You can be Angelica on the way home. I’m going out. _

She can see him nudge Lys next to him, and Fenrys and Lysandra turn around in complete synchronisation. Aelin can tell Sam pretends not to notice their wiggling eyebrows, or the fact she responds by sticking out her tongue at them. As she forces her attention back to the game, Aelin can’t help but think this is the most hopeful she’s felt in a while. 

  
  



	6. Chapter Six

There’s 2 minutes left on the clock. Manon pushes the flyway strands of hair out of her face, giving Asterin an acute nod as she does. Their opposition is more skilled than expected at exploiting their gameplay. It’s been a close one, practically try to try. They’re essentially playing for penalties at this point. The 28-27 score is making Manon jittery. The team is on edge. The crowd is practically emitting nervous energy, for both the teams. 

She does her best to engage her competitive brain that would see this close score as an opportunity to prove this team's ability, rather than her nervous brain which threatens to forget any and all gameplay techniques she has ever learnt. A glance around at her team assures her the rest of them are ready. They know what to do in this situation. 

Asterin has the ball. She’s quick to pass to Sorrell, who’s so fast to weave her way to the outside, Manon barely registers her movements. Sorrel is tackled, the ball travels rapidly. Fallon, Edda, Vesta, back to Edda, Manon. 

She grips the ball, weaving between opposing players. She glances to Vesta, prepping her to receive the ball, and in that split second, she’s slammed to the floor.

The ball, luckily, makes its way to Vesta, albeit sloppily. The tackle has winded her, she can tell because breathing is suddenly extremely difficult. The field seems to zoom out in her vision, and she can vaguely hear Asterin shouting about a high tackle. Asterin  _ will _ get into it with the ref, even though Manon’s told her a million times not to. 

The game carries on. 

Not about to have her second sent off, Manon pushes herself back up, signalling that she’s okay to Asterin. The blonde just glares at the opposite team, but Elide distracts her by lobbing the ball her way. Were it not for the pain she was currently in, Manon would probably laugh at Asterin’s behaviour. It’s rugby, for god's sake. 

As she sprints back towards the game, Manon considers that move could’ve been quite catastrophic, were it not for Asterin’s quick reflexes. There’s only 50 seconds left, Elide cannot be making decisions like that. Scowling, she immerses herself back in the play. Someone’s got to create some order around here. 

For the last seconds on the clock, it’s like the Terrasen Stags are on fire. They’re dynamic, executing each of their practised plays masterfully. Their defense is effective; their opponents are unable to make any advancements on the ball, despite their strong tackles. 

She’s so involved, the whistle barely catches Manon’s attention. For her, the most obvious signifier the game is over is Asterin launching the ball from the pitch, sending the crowds into chaos. 

Manon practically deflates on the pitch, stress pouring off of her. At least that near disaster is over. 

The team bundle together, hands grasping at each other. Relief, mainly. This is a celebratory moment, Manon knows it, but she despises how close the score was. How much she had believed a win was secure today. 

Still, she claps her team on the back, congratulating them. They’ve done brilliantly considering her questionable preparation. The girls are ecstatic. 

As custom, they all shake hands with their opponents, who are actually very lovely off of the pitch. But then again, that could be said for the Stags. Manon gives them her friendliest smile, exchanging appreciation with their captain, in which there is honesty. They’re an extremely good team. Manon tells her as much, clapping her on the back. The captain beams at her, promising to beat them next time.

After their game, the pitch has turned practically into a mud bath, and only now the game has finished does Manon realise they’re all covered head to toe in mud. She tugs at her ponytail as she makes her way to the post game interview at the side of the pitch. The rest of her team are making their way around the edge of the stands, signing various pieces of merch. 

The lights at the interview station are intense, and Manon blinks several times as she stands against the backdrop. She’s not exactly camera ready, given the fact she’s about 70% mud and 30% woman, but she’s a bit past caring.

“We are joined now by Terrasen Stag’s Captain, Manon Blackbeak. Hey, Manon! Welcome.” The interviewer greets her like they are old friends. Normal Manon would resent this, but Captain-Mode Manon welcomes it, it makes her job easier. The interviewer looks oddly familiar with her golden hair, maybe she’s talked to her before. Manon offers her a grin of a captain that has just secured their first win of the season.

“That was a close one today, but you always seem to thrive under the pressure. How do you do it?”

This question is one she’s been asked time and time again, so it’s comfortable for her. “I trust my team. They’re excellent. Everything I plan to do, or change, or adapt, they’re already tuned in. It’s important to me to work as a collective unit, so I really try to focus on that in training.”

“And that translates so well on pitch,” the interviewer praises, “there were rumours of your more… experimental bonding methods. Something involving the newest player, Elide Lochan, a tree and a lake. Any insight you can give me on that?”

Manon chuckles. “Yeah, that was in the summer. Blame our coach for that one. He had the mens team tie Elide, on her  _ mattress _ , in a tree, over a lake, whilst she was asleep. We had to get her back using pieces of rope and a plank of wood.” She nods at the interviewer’s shocked expression, “it was quite stressful, but we did it. Also, it was safe, I can assure you. Practically the whole men’s team was there watching, just to be sure, and a couple of our other friends. We were piss-  _ sorry _ \- annoyed at the time, but it’s quite funny now.”

“Here’s Elide now, let’s ask her about that experience,” the interviewer recounts the event to Elide, who’s just joined them. The brunette chuckles, launching into a full blown explanation of how Fenrys was actually the one that ended up in the lake. She knows viewers will enjoy this little anecdote of theirs.

Elide is so passionate about the team and their friends, Manon finds herself struggling to stop herself from grinning like the Cheshire cat. Despite the mud smeared across one cheek, she looks extremely beautiful, especially all lit up by the lights. Manon watches the way she raises one eyebrow as she’s asked questions, invested and intrigued by the interviewer. 

She has freckles on her nose. Manon hasn’t noticed them before. Suddenly, Manon finds herself determined to find out as much as possible about Elide Lochan.

“You’re staring,” a voice whispers in her ear. 

She shoves the person with her shoulder, knowing full well who it is. Asterin just chuckles, strutting away from the interview area. 

Out of the view of the cameras, Manon offers the blonde a singular, slightly muddy middle finger.

  
  
  


Aelin loves the post game adrenaline. Walking out of the stadium after her team win is like floating on clouds. She feels especially floaty today, making her way down the stairs, Sam's hand in hers. He’s deep in a conversation about the game with Aedion and Dorian, analysing the match to the point Aelin thinks they may have been counting how often the players had been breathing. Lysandra and Fenrys are arguing about a penalty behind them. The post game analysis is usually reserved for the bar afterwards, where everyone comes together in a large conversation that usually results in quite a heated debate. However they’re all splitting up post-game, so the chat happens on the go. 

Aelin is usually quite involved with the conversation. Years of being surrounded by the game means she definitely knows what she’s on about - something middle aged men at the bar fail to grasp occasionally. Today, she lets the talk flow over her. It’s extremely unusual for Aelin to take the backburner in any sort of competitive instance, but she just feels like listening today. She doesn’t quite know why she’s so content to be quiet. Lysandra is the only one that picks up on her quietness, offering her friend a borderline concerned eyebrow raise. 

Realising how she must look to her friend, she gives her an enthusiastic thumbs up. She really is happy, thrilled even, to be going out with Sam, she just wants to hear his interpretation of the game now. Then, it dawns on Aelin as to why she’s so engaged by him. 

She cares about Sam’s opinions. 

This revelation takes a minute to comprehend within her. It’s not like she doesn’t care about anyone else’s thoughts - she does. But with Sam - with Sam, she wants to understand him completely. And the idea of that terrifies her slightly. 

She blinks, forcing herself out of her thoughts, only to look over to see Lysandra with an extremely smug smile on her face. Of course she’d worked it out before her. Aelin did have a tendency to be slightly slow when it came to emotional connections. Lys knew this, and blamed it on Chaol. They were both extremely immature during their time dating. 

“You okay to go, Ae?” Usually, Aelin’s not big on nicknames, besides Ace. But the way Sam says ‘Ae’ with his accent, dragging out the e so it sounds like ‘Aey’ really is something. Yeah, Aelin could get used to that. 

She nods at him, “yep. Where are we going?”

Sam smiles mischievously. Aelin’s stomach flips. “You’ll find out when we get there.”

‘There’ actually turns out to be Sam’s hotel room. He gives her a sheepish smile as they pull up outside it, and she mockingly raises an eyebrow at him.

“This is not what it looks like -” He begins, hands raised in surrender.

“You wouldn’t be trying to persuade me of anything, would you, Mr Cortland?” She teases, smirking at him. 

“No, of course not!” He exclaims. Sam’s obviously quite nervous, now it’s just the two of them. Before he was all cool, calm and collected, making Aelin feel like the blushing schoolgirl. How the tables have turned. 

“The restaurant here is really nice, and I don’t really know the area,” he explains, “so it was the safest option. If you don’t want to we can -”

“No!” Aelin stops him before he works himself up further, “seriously, Sam, I was only joking. This will be lovely.”

He nods, and Aelin feels it’s more to assure himself than anything else. One of his curls flops against his forehead as he does, and it takes all of Aelins willpower not to reach out and touch it. 

Instead, she clambers out of the car, offering Sam her hand to help him out.

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be the other way around,” he states, but takes it anyway.

“Meh.” Aelin shrugs, “Gender roles are stupid.”

She watches his reaction for that one, an objection would be a major red flag. In fact, she’d probably call off the date. 

But he just beams at her, “they are. Thank you for your help, Ae.”

Bing bing. One test passed for Sam. She’s not actually testing him, but she’s marginally more aware of red flags due to past experiences. 

He swings their hands as they make their way up the steps to the hotel door, which he opens for her. 

“Did you know...” he says between swings.

“Probably not,” Aelin interjects, earning herself a partially amused, partially exasperated grin.

“... that decided to invite you out literally the moment I did it,” she looks up at him, and can instantly tell he’s telling the truth. 

“I thought about it for a while. Like, literally the night we met, but then I was like: no, too soon. So I decided just to leave it until it felt right. And then, bam. Mid-game,” He’s waving his free hand around a little, as if just to emphasize his point, “so I just went for it. It’s weird though, I’m not usually that impulsive.”

“Well, if it’s any constellation to impulsive-Sam, I’m extremely glad that you did.”

Sam’s answering smile is enough to knock her right off her feet. He might actually have one of the best smiles of anyone she’s ever met. 

The restaurant is pretty quiet, and Sam manages to secure them a table in the corner. It’s extremely cute, the table for just the two of them, tucked away, but still open enough so Aelin can do what she loves most. People watching. 

She expresses this love to Sam as they sit down, and he immediately launches into a story about some lady with eight dogs he saw at the airport. Apparently, she’d booked a seat for each of the dogs. They bond over their shared love for observing other people for a while, taking it in turns to explain their funniest stories. Each of them have some hilarious ones, Sam due to his amount of travelling, and Aelin due to what she sees in the bar on a regular occasion. 

They order drinks, deciding to share a bottle of white wine. It goes with both their orders well, Aelin having ordered carbonara whilst Sam opted for the lemon chicken. It turns out, Aelin drinks more wine than Sam, who is largely involved in the beer drinking culture of rugby, but does occasionally have a glass.

Over their meal - which really is exceptional - they chat about how Sam got into rugby (it was a family friend), Aelin’s uncle and cousin (she actively avoided conversation about the rest of her family) and their Gordon Ramsey quote. The Spongebob one was the winner of that debate.

“What was the film of your childhood?” Sam asks at one point, after a long discussion about how the film Snow White was not particularly appropriate for its intended audiences.

Aelin has to think about this one, twirling carbonara on her fork whilst she does. “I’m not sure. There were a few. I always love a film with a good soundtrack, ask anyone. Aedion is fed up with the  _ Tangled  _ songs, Lys and I are obsessed.”

Sam chuckles softly, raising his wine glass to his lips. Aelin tries very hard not to follow it, and fails. 

“ _ Bambi _ was always a big one for me as a kid, I adored it,” she continues, dragging her eyes away from Sam’s lips and back up to his eyes. 

“It’s so traumatic though!” He exclaims, to which Aelin laughs softly, “I was always big on  _ Harry Potter _ . And by big, I mean absolutely obsessed.”

“I loved  _ Harry Potter _ ! Every single dress up day at school, I would go as Luna Lovegood. I adored her.”

“I can just imagine little Aelin as Luna,” Sam smiles, “I had a pair of glasses with no lens in that I wore for about two months straight around the age of 8. I don't even need glasses, I just wouldn’t take them off!”

The mental image of 8 year old Sam refusing to take off fake glasses is extremely funny to Aelin, who cracks up. 

“Do all your photographs of you as an 8 year old involve glasses?”

Sam folds his arms, pretending to be annoyed. He grumbles a quiet ‘yes’, which only makes Aelin laugh harder. 

He gives her a moment of silent treatment whilst Aelin attempts to compose herself, telling him about how she can’t wait to find these images and put them on Instagram, ruining his rugby-boy facade for life. Once she’s sort-of over it, she leans over and playfully flicks him on the nose.

“C’mon, grumpy, cheer up,” she tries to persuade him. His eyes soften slightly.

“If you release that information, Fenrys will destroy me.”

Realisation crosses Aelin’s face and Sam immediately regrets ever opening his mouth. 

“Oh YES!” she exclaims, “I can’t wait to tell Fen!”

Sam puts his face in his hands.

  
  
  


Elide is on a one woman mission tonight. She’s looking for someone in the bar. And that someone isn’t here. 

She slumps down on a bar stool, and Lysandra, who’s working this evening, frowns at her.

“You look like a woman that requires a Gin and Tonic, ASAP,” the brunette states to her, and Elide doesn’t even argue. Lysandra is a skilled woman when it comes to ascertaining drink requirements.

“So,” Lys says two minutes later, sliding the glass towards her, “what’s got you over here, looking like the sun might never shine again? Your team won today, you should be celebrating, love.”

She glances over to where a majority of her team is. They’re currently playing what looks like a dangerous drinking game in the corner booth. All of them minus one.

“Just tired, I think,” she justifies, but they both know that isn’t the reason.

Lysandra looks around the bar for a moment, then winks at her.

“Aedion,” she pulls her boyfriend’s attention away from the conversation he is having with Fenrys and Rowan, who looks exhausted, “I’m taking Elide somewhere, please watch the bar for two minutes?”

He nods, joining her behind the bar, kissing her on the cheek as she thanks him. Something in Elide’s chest pangs at the sight of them. He resumes his conversation with his friends.

“Okay, bring your G&T, let’s go,” she grabs Elide by the hand before she has any time to protest.

Lys leads them through a few groups of people, to a door that Elide has never been through before. She does her best not to look scared, but she can’t help but wonder if Lysandra has completely lost her mind. The taller brunette whips out a keychain, twists the keys in the lock, and swings open the door. Beyond the door, there’s a short corridor, on one side of which is the boiler room, Lysandra explains. They reach the door at the end.

“Here we are,” she stops outside the door, “I think the person you’re looking for is in there.”

“Uh, Lys, are you sure -”

“Just go in,” Lys practically shoves her through the door. “You’ll thank me later.”

Elide stumbles into a room, but manages not to spill any of her drink. The room she enters isn’t that big. Nor is it that well lit. There’s a desk in one corner, stacked with a few books that she identifies as being Aelins, a few various sketches stuck onto the wall, along with a couple of photographs. It’s clearly a hang out room. There’s a large TV on one wall, opposite which is probably the largest couch Elide has ever seen. It takes up a majority of the room. 

She’s not that concerned with the couch. She’s more concerned with the person sitting on the couch, papers spread around them. The figure on the couch is looking up at her, and the first thing Elide notices is how stressed she looks.

“Hi,” she says, unsure of the situation she has just walked into.

“Hey,” Manon responds, “how did you get here?”

“Lysandra,” Elide shrugs, and a shadow of a smile flits over Manon’s face, as if that was exactly what she expected. 

“What are you up to?” Elide continues, wrapping her arms around herself. It’s not at all cold, just a nervous habit of hers. 

Manon pats the couch next to her, inviting her over. She sits down, crossing her legs.

“Rug?” Manon asks, offering to share the blanket with her. Elide nods. “Well, scoot closer, it’s not going to reach all the way over there.”

As she moves closer to Manon, who quite gently places the rug over her, she examines the papers in front of her.

“You’re studying the next opponents already?” She asks, confusion flooding her features. They’re not playing again for a week and a bit, Manon can afford the evening off at least.

“I just want to be ready,” Manon pushes her hair backwards, clearly stressed. 

“We can prep tomorrow,” Elide tries to assure her. Manon shakes her head. Elide isn’t too sure how to react to her in such a state. She’s usually a bit of a fortress for emotions.

“Today was too close, El.”

The nickname warms her, but she doesn’t mention it. It’s not the time.

“But we did it, we did it,” she thinks about taking Manon’s hand, but stops herself. Manon probably just wants a friend right now. 

They sit in silence for a minute, Manon obsessively pouring over ideas for play and their upcoming opponents. Elide decides she has to stop this.

“Okay, hey, enough,” she starts clearing up the papers, Manon starts to protest, but not very strongly, “not tonight, okay? You can take tonight off, at least. Relax tonight, love.”

The term of endearment makes its way out of Elide’s mouth before she can stop it. She freezes. Manon turns to her, an eyebrow raised.

“What was that?” Manon asks, a small smile on her lips.

“Nothing,” Elide mumbles, busying herself with the papers.

Manon reaches over, and gently, oh so gentle, takes hold of Elide’s jaw. She angles her face towards her, and Elide thinks she might actually melt under Manon’s gaze. She’d be okay if she did melt, she decides, because this would be an extremely nice way to go.

“What did you call me?” Manon’s lips are so close to her face, she can just feel the warmth of her breath. Manon’s eyes are running over her face intently, just over her nose and cheeks, but Elide can’t work out why.

“Love,” Elide breathes, barely able to get the words out.

Manon smiles softly, “I like that. Say that again.”

Her lips are so close to Elide’s, she thinks she might combust.

“Love,” Manon’s eyes dip to her lips for a split second as the word leaves Elide’s mouth. 

Then, Manon’s lips are on hers. The papers slide out of Elide’s hands onto the floor as she feels the softness of Manon’s mouth. 

This might actually be it. She might have actually ascended. She was pretty sure that this, kissing Manon, was all that heaven was. 

It’s not a long kiss, she can tell Manon is testing the waters, but it is probably the best thing Elide has ever experienced. She can’t help but be disappointed when Manon pulls away.

They look at each other for a while, and she runs a hand over Manon’s platinum hair, pushing back the wisps. 

“That okay?” Manon whispers. 

“Mmmhm,” Elide nods, a blush making its way up her cheeks. “Why were you looking at my nose?”

Manon takes a second, before uttering one word.

“Freckles,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

She doesn’t allow Elide to ask any questions, just drops her lips back onto Elide’s, smiling all the while. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am malide trash and it shows. thank u so much for the love on the previous chapters !!


	7. Chapter Seven

It’s about midnight when Aelin and Sam finish their meal. In all honesty, it’s the best impromptu date Aelin has ever had in her life. Following the Harry Potter discussion, Aelin spent a long time lecturing Sam on the importance of a perfectly curated playlist after he admitted he had two playlists, named ‘Training’ and ‘Chill’. She convinced him to give her his phone at some point, and she would spend a couple of hours extending his musical knowledge. 

As they get up to leave, Aelin offers to split the bill with Sam, who declines politely, and states she can buy another time. 

“I want to make the most of my time here,” he says, wrapping his arm over her shoulder as they stroll out of the restaurant. 

She raises a suggestive eyebrow, earning her an immediate playful shove.

“Not like that, you heathen!” Sam shakes his head, brown curls falling over each other. “I meant paying for you.”

“I know you did,” Aelin chuckles lightly, leaning into his side more. Sam is like a heater, and the cold, wintery breeze is blowing in from outside. “I need to call a car to pick me up.”

“Do you want me to come with you on the drive back?” He asks, “It’s looking icy out there.”

It’s extremely endearing how concerned he looks. Aelin shakes her head. “It’ll be okay. I’m used to these winters.”

“I will never understand how anyone can be  _ used  _ to this, it’s polar out there,” Sam pauses, moving around to face her. He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. Aelin thanks the Gods that her cheeks are already flushed from the cold. 

“What if, and you don’t have too, I mean… It’s an option. An option I would be much happier with than you travelling back in that weather, but still, it’s up to you…”

Sam’s a bit of a rambler when he gets nervous, Aelin’s noticed. 

“Sam,” she takes his hands, which he’s been wringing nervously, “just ask me what you want.”

He takes a breath. “You could stay here tonight. I’m not making any sort of assumptions -”

For a 6 foot Rugby Player, he can be incredibly cautious. But she knows he’s only trying to be respectful, which Aelin is grateful for. Makes a change from the men she usually has to deal with. 

“I would love too,” she responds, and he huffs out a breath. The nervousness clears practically immediately, and bubbly Sam is back. 

“Brilliant,” he replies, intertwining their fingers, “lets go.”

Like the child she is, Aelin speeds up as they make their way towards the elevator, so that she can be the one to press the button. When they get inside, she presses those buttons too. 

Noticing her evident enjoyment, Sam chuckles slightly. She looks up at him, her eyebrows knotting together.

“And what, Mr Cortland, are you laughing at?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” he says, with an extremely forced straight face. 

Aelin puts a hand on her hip. She can’t fold her arms, no matter how much she’s pretending to be angry, because then she’d have to let go of his hand. 

“That is exactly what I thought.” 

Sam doesn’t respond, just smiles, leading her down the hallway, swinging their arms. He swipes the card to his room, opening the door for Aelin, who secretly thinks about how much Lysandra will love to hear about Sam’s gentleman-ly ways. She’s a bit of a sucker for that. Aelin’s still not too sure how she ended up with Aedion. 

His hotel room is nice, slightly larger and more homely than many she’s ever stayed in. There’s a large TV, a mini fridge, which she makes a mental note to raid later, and a bed that looks like it might just be made of clouds. 

She’s drawn out of her interior design assessment by both her phone pinging incessantly.

Aelin expects it to be Aedion or Lysandra, but Fenrys has constructed a whole group chat with practically every member of the team. It must be relatively new as the chat is still unnamed. Sighing, she opens her messages. 

**_Aelin Ashryver Galathynius where are you?_ **

Fenrys has written. Aelin sits down on the edge of the bed and is promptly joined by Sam. She turns her phone screen so that he can read the message. 

**_None of your business, Fenrys._ **

She responds. Seconds after it’s sent practically every member of the group appears as typing. All except one. Who the hell decided to put Rowan Whitethorn in this chat?

**_I swear Aelin…_ **

**_You better be safe._ **

**_If you’re having a good time without me -_ **

These messages are received from Aedion, Lysandra and Fenrys in rapid succession. Sam chuckles next to her, and Aelin leans into him slightly. 

The rest of the boys jump in telling her she better be safe, and with people she knows and trusts.

“They’re so irritating,” she grumbles to Sam, flopping back to lie on the mattress. 

“Nah, it’s sweet. They care about you,” he responds, lying next to her. 

Aelin hums gently in response. Her phone is still beeping every five seconds. 

“My Gods if they could just shut up, that would be beautiful.”

They lie for a minute in silence, other than the background noise of Aelin’s phone. At some point Sam has taken her hand, and is running his thumb over the back of it. 

“I think I have an idea to make them be quiet,” he says eventually, “is it okay if I quickly use your phone?”

“Sure,” Aelin pushes herself up, leaning her chin on his shoulder. She watches as his fingers fly over the controls of her phone. 

**_Aelin has added Sam to the group chat._ **

Just as the notification pops up, Sam opens his own phone, and begins typing out a message. It’s just one word.

**_Goodnight._ **

He sends it, a small smirk on his face, before silencing his phone and placing it on the side table. Aelin’s phone practically explodes with notifications as a result of his message, most of which are expletives in the groupchat, and she quickly silences hers too.

“I’m not sure that was very effective in shutting them up,” she says with a playful raised eyebrow. 

Sam shrugs, a smile dancing on his lips. “Oh well.”

“You just like getting me into trouble,” she teases, shoving him with her shoulder. 

He hums softly, but doesn’t say anything for a while. Instead, he stands, walks over to his bag and pulls out a small speaker. 

“Did you pack your kitchen sink in there too?” Aelin jokes, as she shimmies back on the bed, so she’s leaning against the three hundred cushions this place seems to have provided. 

_ Wouldn’t It Be Nice _ by The Beach Boys trickles out of it. Sam glances at Aelin, as if seeking her musical approval. 

She raises her eyebrow slightly, but nods. Uncle Gavriel would always play The Beach Boys in the summer, barbequing for her and Aedion. Those were much simpler days. 

“I didn't have you down as a Beach Boys fan.”

Sam comes and lies down next to her on the bed. Aelin drops her head onto his shoulder. He wraps his arm around the back of her shoulders, pulling her into him. 

“My Uncle played them a lot when I was a kid -” _ oh, god, she can actually hear his heart beating _ “- so they’ve always been a favourite of mine.”

He hums, deep and low in his chest. It takes all of Aelin’s willpower - what's left of it - not to melt into a little puddle as he raises his hand and begins running his hand through her hair. 

Her willpower, however, does not restrain the content sigh that leaves her lips. Sam chuckles lightly at her reaction, and Aelin melts into him further. 

“This is nice,” she says, tilting her head up so she can see Sam’s face, “you’re gorgeous.” 

She throws that on the end for good measure. Apparently it works, because Sam’s freckled cheeks blush slightly pink. 

“You’re an absolute liar, if you’re saying it from that angle, I have a serious double chin,” he shakes his head, and his eyes take a faraway stare as he suddenly turns serious. “But on the pitch,  _ ah _ , on the pitch, Ae, you would be right. I am a  _ god _ . It’s those navy kits. They just really do me wonders.”

“Oh, shut up,” Aelin laughs at his joking, reaching up and poking his cheek, “you are absolutely insufferable.”

“Are you telling me I don’t look absolutely, positively  _ mouthwatering _ in those shorts?” he asks sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at her. 

She spends a second wondering whether she should feed this falsified ego further. 

“Your ass has never looked better, I will say that,” Aelin sighs, as if the confession has been long sought after. 

“HA!” Sam exclaims, “I knew it!”

His fingers dance on her sides as they laugh, featherlight and gentle. The laughter is refreshing and exciting. Sam has one of the most contagious laughs of anyone she’s ever met. 

“You’re very gorgeous too,” Sam says, after they’ve both stopped laughing. 

Aelin smiles at him as she runs a hand over his jaw. “Thank you.”

The silence that settles isn't uncomfortable. It’s warm and slightly electrified, filled with anticipation. 

Aelin’s eyes flit over Sam’s face as he tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. She notices how the freckles become darker over his nose, there’s actually a bit of green in his brown eyes and there’s a small scar above his top lip. 

Their faces are so close together that Sam's nose gently brushes against hers. Aelin grins slightly, and Sam must be able to tell she’s on the brink of saying something stupid, because he leans down, closing the remaining milimetres of space between them. 

Sam's lips are soft on hers, and the kiss is relaxed and gentle - like he’s testing the waters with her, making sure this is all okay. Aelin reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, a silent way of assuring him she’s comfortable with this. 

She deepens the kiss, maneuvering herself so her legs are straddling Sam's waist, her body covering his. This is a much more comfortable kissing position. 

Sam’s fingers make their way up and down Aelin’s sides, in slow, circular patterns. They send waves of warmth through Aelin’s entire body. 

“Ae -” Sam starts to whisper as Aelin allows her hands to do their own exploring, but doesn’t make it any further as his words dissolve into unintelligible sounds. 

Aelin is a big, big fan of Sam’s sounds. 

Just before she can escalate things further, Sam draws his head away from hers, breaking the kiss. He pushes her hair back out of her face. 

“I’m just checking you’re okay with this?” He asks, his entire face flushed. 

“More than okay,” Aelin responds, smiling gently, “are you okay with this?”

“More than okay,” he repeats her earlier words, running his thumb over her lips. 

“Brilliant,” Aelin ducks her head down and begins peppering kisses on his neck. 

Then, “you tell me if you’re not okay,” she whispers into his jaw. 

“Absolutely,” he runs his hand through her hair, “you do too.”

Aelin chuckles softly. Right now is the most okay she’s been in weeks. She doesn’t tell Sam that, but decides to show him instead.

“I will,” are the last words that Aelin plans on saying for a long time.

Xx

It’s ten to midnight and the bar’s quiet. It is Sunday evening after all, and most people have work the next day. 

Lysandra’s just happy that Aedion and his friends have decided to stay until she closes. Even if it is on the promise of free drinks. 

She runs through the works of prepping the bar for closing, Aedion helping her with the washing up. It’s very unlikely anyone new will come in at this time. Rowan is sitting at the bar, swirling a glass of whiskey, occasionally making sarcastic comments about Aedion’s washing technique. 

On one of the couches, Lorcan and Fenrys appear to be playing a quite heated game of cards, and Lys can tell Fenrys is about to lose. He really should’ve learnt his lesson by now. No one in their right mind would challenge Lorcan to cards. 

“We should be able to go in about 5,” Lys tells Aedion, as she places the last of the glasses under the cabinet. “Do you recon Aelin will be back tonight?”

Aedion drains the sink, and turns to look at his girlfriend, his eyebrow raised. 

“Lysandra,” he deadpans, “there is no way in hell you’re seeing that girl until tomorrow.”

“Damn,” the brunette responds, “good for her.”

Fenrys, completely defeated, makes his way over to the bar. 

“Good for who?” He asks, shuffling the cards back into their box. 

Lorcan takes the seat next to him. 

“Aelin,” Rowan responds. He drains the end of his whiskey. 

“Mhm, you go my girl,” Fenrys agrees, his eyebrows scrunching up in something of contemplation. Never a good sign with Fen. “You know what, you’re so right. Good for her. I’m actually jealous.”

Lys chuckles lightly, whilst Rowan shakes his head slightly, exasperated. He’s become close to Fenrys extremely quickly, but sometimes his behaviour would imply that of a long suffering friend.

Fenrys arches an eyebrow conspiratorially. “You judge me now, but the  _ things _ I have heard about that man.  _ Phew. _ ”

“And there’s my sign that we should all go home!” Aedion exclaims, clapping his hands together. 

Lysandra takes his hand, flipping the LED lights off as they walk out from behind the bar. She turns to grab her coat off the hooks, when the doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of another person. 

She ducks out from behind Aedion to address the person.

“Hi, sorry we’re -” the words fail her as she realises who it is. 

She feels Aedion’s hand tense around hers. He’s recognised him too. She’d be concerned if he didn’t. 

“Lys?” Fenrys mutters, placing his hand on her shoulder, “you okay?”

She doesn’t get a chance to reply, she’s honestly not sure she has the words to. Her entire body seems paralysed in shock. 

“Hello Lysandra.”

His voice is just as hollow as she remembers. It sends shivers up her spine. Aedion takes a step in front of her. If the unwelcome arrival is surprised by this display of protectiveness, he doesn’t show it. 

“Ah,” the man chuckles slightly, “don’t worry yourself, I’m not here for her.”

Rowan steps around the side of Aedion. 

“What are you here for?” He asks, his voice deathly cold. 

Lysandra knows he doesn’t even know who this man is, but has quickly concluded him as a threat. She feels safer with the knowledge that she’s surrounded by four of the largest men she knows. Usually, she’d insist on not requiring protection, and usually it would be true. But right now she can barely move, let alone protect herself. 

“I don’t know why you’re getting involved, Whitethorn,” he says, casually running a hand over his auburn hair. He turns his gaze back to Lysandra. “Where’s Aelin? It’s unusual to see you apart. So where is she?”

Lysandra shakes her head slightly. “I don’t know.”

He chuckles, the noise goes right through Lysandra. “You know, Lysandra. You do know.”

He starts to walk towards her, eyes picking her apart as he moves. He makes it about half a step before Aedion is there, his hand around his throat, pushing him back up against the wall.

Lysandra exhales slightly. She’s extremely thankful for Fenrys’ hand on her shoulder. 

“You need to leave,” Aedion mutters, his voice deathly quiet. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

The man smirks, apparently completely unbothered that a 6’3” rugby player has him pinned up against a wall, threats a whisper of a promise in the air around them. 

“The thing is,” he says, each word calculated, “I know exactly where she is. Exactly  _ who _ she’s with. Sam Cortland. I know where the Adarlan Rugby Team is staying, it’s actually quite public information.” His eyes flick over Aedion, unimpressed. “So, I’d suggest you let me go.”

“Only if you leave,” Lorcan speaks for the first time, his voice little more than a growl. 

The man closes his eyes, as if annoyed by their presence. “I only came here to give you a little warning, surely you’ve figured that out by now. I know Lysandra has, haven’t you?”

Lys doesn't move, but she figured out why he was here the moment he asked for Aelin. She knew he would know exactly where Aelin was, otherwise he wouldn’t have come. That was his way. Confusion, calculation. Ambiguous motives, always. 

She nods slightly. 

“He’ll leave now,” she says, her voice harder than expected. 

The man smiles, looking at her boyfriend. “Well, aren’t you going to listen to your girl?”

Aedion glances at Lys.  _ Are you sure? _

Lysandra nods again. Aedion releases his grip on the man, dropping him to the floor. 

He makes his way back towards the door, his walk filled with purpose, like this is exactly how he imagined this interaction to go. 

“Goodbye, Lysandra,” he nods in her direction. She forces her facial features to remain neutral. 

“Please let Aelin Galathynius know that her old friend Arobynn Hamel is looking for her.”

xx

Elide wakes up feeling the most refreshed she’s felt in years. The blurriness of waking up clears after a few seconds, and she realises she is not in her room. That is becoming a theme in her life recently. However, she can at least remember why she’s here this time. 

Her arm is thrown over Manon’s sleeping body, her silver hair fanned out around her head like a halo. Her chest rises and falls rhythmically, and Elide feels an instinctive sort of protectiveness come over her as she glances down at the peaceful girl asleep next to her. 

Moments without Manon throwing a death threat at her are rare, so Elide takes the time to run her hands through her long hair, twisting it gently around her fingers. 

Manon’s eyelids flutter ever so slight as she does, the only indication she gives that she’s waking up. 

“Good morning,” Elide whispers softly.

She receives no response, but Manon rolls over, wrapping her arms around Elide and resting her head on her chest. Elide smiles slightly and moves the blanket so it’s covering Manon’s back. 

She resumes her duty of running her hand through her silver hair, closing her eyes as she does. They lie in the silence for a while, listening to the bird chirping happily outside the window. Elide almost falls back asleep, but her eyes flick open as she feels something heavy land on her feet. 

A black cat is standing on her legs, it’s green eyes baring into her soul. 

“Uh, love,” Elide says, looking down at Manon, who she’s pretty sure is just pretending to be asleep at this point. “I think your cat is staring me down.”

“Mhm,” she mumbles, barely intelligible. “It’s ‘braxos.”

“I think he wants breakfast,” Elide responds, pushing a strand of Manon’s hair behind her ear. 

Abraxos seems to agree, as he meows loudly. Manon scrunches her face up.

“I’ll feed him if you tell me where the food is,” she offers. 

Apparently, Manon doesn’t like that idea, because her arms tighten around Elide’s torso almost immediately. She chuckles slightly. 

“Well one of us has got to feed him,” she argues.

Manon finally looks up at her through thick lashes and Elide’s heart skips about five beats. She stretches up and presses a kiss to Elide’s lips. 

“I’ll go,” she says, throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed. 

Elide immediately misses the warmth she provides, and so bundles further down into the bed. Her eyes appreciatively follow Manon’s legs as she walks, stretching out from the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing. Abraxos weaves between her feet as she walks. 

“You better be quick,” Elide threatens. 

Manon turns and gives her a wink that heats her the whole way through. 

“Just for you.”

xx

The sound of shuffling wakes Aelin up. There’s a dim light on in the hotel room. She rolls over, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. 

There’s a figure - Sam - walking around the room, humming to himself as he collects random icons of clothing.

“Whaddareyoudoin?” Aelin doesn’t even try to be coherent - it’s too early for that.

Sam looks over at her, just noticing that she’d woken up. She can just see him smiling in the low light.

“Good morning,” he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

Aelin snuggles further down into the covers as he does, relishing in his affections. 

“We’re okay to do, like, casual affection now, right? I didn’t read that wrong?” He asks.

“All the affection please,” Aelin mumbles. She hums appreciatively as he drops another kiss on the top of her head. 

“You sleep like the dead,” Sam says, “I have never seen someone sleep so deeply or so still. How do you sleep so still?”

Aelin shrugs. “You must’ve worn me out.”

He chuckles under his breath at that. 

“So,” Aelin says, propping herself up on the cushions, covers tucked around her, “what are you doing?”

Sam looks around the room like he hadn’t realised it looked vaguely like someones wardrobe had exploded. 

“Packing, Ae,” he says softly, running a hand through his curls.

Her heart sinks, and sits heavy in the bottom of her stomach. 

“Oh,” is her only response. 

She’d completely forgotten Sam was flying home today, back to Adarlan. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, looking dejected. “Dorian and Chaol will be here in 20 minutes I think.”

Aelin tries to preoccupy herself by fiddling with a loose thread on covers. She’s annoyed at herself for forgetting that Sam didn’t live locally. Of course, it would’ve been too perfect. There’s always got to be some catch.

The bed dips next to her, and Sam is sitting on the edge of it, looking concerned. 

“It’s okay, babe,” he says, trying to be reassuring, “I really want this to work. Do you really want this to work?”

Aelin just nods, lifting her eyes to meet his. His hand rests on her cheek. 

“Then we’ll make it work, Ae. I’m only a phone call away, or a text. Or, worse comes to worse, a three hour flight away. I think we can make that work, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” Aelin responds, desperately trying to push back the tears that threaten to fall, “yeah, we can make that work.”

Sam smiles proudly, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“That’s my girl.”

Her whole soul warms at the words. Sam runs a hand through her hair. 

“Am I?” She asks.

“Are you what?” Sam responds, his brown eyes soft but seemingly confused, “my girl? Ae - of course you’re my girl. If you would like to be?”

“Uh-huh,” Aelin nods, her heart growing. She's a bit at a loss for words. First time for everything. 

Sam's eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles.

“Good,” he kisses her once more before standing again, “let me finish packing - I’ll be one second. Then we’ll have, uh, 14 minutes, roughly, before Dorian and Chaol arrive and ruin all our fun.”

Aelin chuckles, settling back into bed as Sam shoves things into his suitcase. 

“Do you want your phone, Ae? I put it on charge last night and I think your do not disturb expires at 7am, because it’s been pinging ever since.”

The fact he even thought to charge her phone makes Aelin melt. She feels like she’s 11 again with a mad crush. 

“Yes please,” she leans up and kisses his cheek as he hands her the phone. 

Aelin chuckles at the blush that rises on his cheeks. The smile disappears the moment she checks her notifications. There’s about a hundred texts, from six different people. 

She flicks open her phone. Aedion, Lysandra, Fenrys, Lorcan, even Rowan has text her. They all read the same. 

_ Aelin, you need to come home. Or call me. Something’s happened.  _

  
  
  
  



End file.
